


Collateral damage, worthy of Guilt

by HeDidCare



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, John helps Sherlock deal with Guilt, M/M, Molly Depressed, Molly Suicide, Sherlock apologetic, Sherlock cant bring back the dead, WARNINGS: Suicide triggers, if its your thing please stay away.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeDidCare/pseuds/HeDidCare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly kills herself in the months following Sherlocks 'suicide' and it's John's job to help the Guilty detective return to reality, no easy feat - as the Detective seems responsible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Horrible discovery

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Suicide triggers, if its your thing please stay away.
> 
> Source: After The Rain - Depression Poems, Sad Poems http://www.poemsclub.com/after-the-rain.html#ixzz2l9YSqi9K

# After the Rain

 

Whatever your cross, whatever your pain,  
There will always be sunshine after the rain  
Perhaps you may stumble, perhaps even fall,  
But God’s always ready to answer your call

He knows every heartache, sees every tear,  
A word from His lips can calm every fear  
Your sorrows may linger throughout the night,  
But suddenly vanish at dawn’s early light

The Savior is waiting somewhere above,  
To give you His grace and send you His love  
Whatever your cross, whatever your pain,  
God always sends rainbows after the rain

  
  
Source: [After The Rain - Depression Poems, Sad Poems](http://www.poemsclub.com/after-the-rain.html#ixzz2l9YSqi9K) <http://www.poemsclub.com/after-the-rain.html#ixzz2l9YSqi9K>

 

 

Thats what the note had said. It was written in a blue ball point pen. Molly's cursive writing was easily recognisable - because on many cases, John had to read through her reports.

John had been extatic on that Tuesday. It had been raining, but John had ventured out in a cab to Molly's apartment, so he could tell her the incredible news. Sherlock Holmes was alive. 

John had spent the last week in Sherlocks company, in a plane that only stopped to be refulled. Apparently it was too much of a 'What if' to have Sherlock among civilians at that point in time, but after three years of supposed Death, he was looking good. Admittedly, John had near killed the detective himself upon learning of the miracle of his survival. And once the innitial shock had worn off, Sherlock managed to calm him down enough to explain his survival, and subsequently taking down Moriarty's criminal web. None of it had mattered, John was still just happy that his best friend was alive. It had been three years of torturous pain and anguish. He hadn't come close to moving on. As if someone had paused his life, and on that plane - they'd hit play. The Doctor and the Detective had resumed their relationship, as if they'd never been seperated. John continuously had moments were white anger engulfed him, his best friend snatched away by a neccesary act. Taken to far away placs, while John was left to mourn in their empty flat. Alone. 

All had changed, Sherlock was back. It had taken a month for Mycroft to reset everything - to set up everyting they would need to reintergrate Sherlock back into society. To give them back their old life. John had been trusted in this month not to tell a soul, and he had listened. As a sentimental, and seemingly un-Mycroft act, they set up the press interviews, on the day of his three year abscence. It was this day, the 16th of March 2014, that Sherlock informed John that he was allowed to alert those close to them, of his good health. John had hugged the man on that Tuesday night, and ran from the flat  - despite the rain. Hailing a cab had been difficult, but eventually he managed to get one, slam the door behind him and rattle off Molly's address. She had been his pillar throughout the mess, and John had the suspicion that it had to do with the fact that she had been hopelessly in love with the Detective.

And now here she was, swaying due to the wind coming in the sliding door that she left open. John reread the note, still in Shock that such a gentle quiet soul could do this to themselves.

 

 

 

_My Dearest John,_

_I am so terribly sorry for doing this to you today. I know it will be hard enough with Sherlocks 3 year anniversary - but I can just no longer continue. For so long, I stood in the background. Ignored - and painfully aware of it, nevertheless, I still tried to get some attention. Every time tried and failed. My pain has been concealed well, but even if I did ever let soemthing slip - no doubt it would have gone unnoticed as I do. At least this way I may gain some attention. Unfourtunately not in the way I wanted. It's tacky - but I am crying now writing this, the noose I have already secured to my foyer bannister. I fear I cant write anymore, but I will finnish this with my favourite poem. Never have words been so well placed. Goodbye. xxoo._

_Whatever your cross, whatever your pain,_   
_There will always be sunshine after the rain_   
_Perhaps you may stumble, perhaps even fall,_   
_But God’s always ready to answer your call_

_He knows every heartache, sees every tear,_   
_A word from His lips can calm every fear_   
_Your sorrows may linger throughout the night,_   
_But suddenly vanish at dawn’s early light_

_The Savior is waiting somewhere above,_   
_To give you His grace and send you His love_   
_Whatever your cross, whatever your pain,_   
_God always sends rainbows after the rain_

 

 

John placed the note on the table, Molly had obviously been dead for hours, so there was no point in trying to revive her. He called the police.

"999, whats your emergency?" A tired voice asked.

"I need an ambulance at 34 Cleftfield place. There's been a suicide." He told her, realising distantly that he was sobbing.

"Sir, everything will be fine. Who's the victim?" The women inquired, sounding sympathetic.

"Molly Hooper." He told her, sinking to the floor with the phone, shifting to the feotel position. He noticed with horror, that he was now directly under the still swinging softly Molly.

"What's your name sir? Keep breathing, deep Breaths. Is the woman ... dead? There may be a chance to save her." The woman voiced, he tuned her out.

"Sherlock .... Sherlock. Ohh Jesus, Sherlock help me." He mumbled. He knew Sherlock had installed a bug on his phone - so even while travelling he could listen to Whatever John was doing. Potentially awkward previously. But now, he prayed for the Detective to be listening - to come and get him. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was having a panic attack. Damn his PTSD!

"We'll have an ambulance there in 11 minutes. Just keep talking with me sir." The voice prattled on, but John was way past talking.


	2. Screaming in the Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock happens to be listening to the bug on John's phone, and he's already in a cab when he hears the first of John's sobbing.

# Forgotten Grave

 

Sometimes She comes to  
my Grave, holding a red  
rose,  
Depicting her love for  
me,roses were those,

Standing still She  
bursts into tears,  
Oh! How can I console  
her?, the distance  
never nears,

  
  
Source: [Forgotten Grave - Poems About Sadness, Sad Poems, Short Sad Poems](http://www.poemsclub.com/forgotten-grave.html#ixzz2l9j5Jb4e) <http://www.poemsclub.com/forgotten-grave.html#ixzz2l9j5Jb4e>

 

 

"John? JOHN!" Sherlock had yelled, but there wasn't much he could do. Molly was swaying in the stormy breeze coming from outside, her feet were at least a meter off the ground.

"Oh My God John..." He whispered, leaning down and taking the curled up Doctor, he sat on the ground and pulled the sobbing Detective into his lap.

He rocked him gently, muttering appropriate terms, all the while his mind screamed the obvious.

'It'll be okay.' NO IT WON'T

'Everything's gonna be fine.' MOLLY IS DEAD

'Helps on the way.' IT"S TOO LATE

' I'm here.' I WAS TOO LATE

All the while, John clung to him. The ambulance arrived - with a police car. Sherlock closed the cellphone that the Doctor hugged to his hair, and ran his hands up and down John's back - as his friend had done for him, many times when his mind was just too much. The ambulance staff nodded to him and to the door, and taking the hint - he got up, lifting John with him, and sat outside in the rain with John. Momentarily, he placed John on the ground, alone - but only did so, so that he could remove his jacket and wrap it around them like a cloak. Protecting them from the horror they'd just witnessed.

"Today was supposed to be a good day. Introduce you back to the world. We left it too late. One day too late." John mumbled into his chest. Sherlock made no comment, as in the brief moments before comforting John - he had read the letter. He knew full well who's fault it was. John was once again being hurt by the Detectives decisions.

 

"Hi, I'm sergeant Albert Brander, I'm so sorry for your loss - but I'm going to need your statements." The policeman told him, looking awkward when he finally got off his radio. He was getting soaked in the rain, and Sherlock knew he wouldn't leave them alone until he had what he needed. "Look. I'm Sherlock Holmes, i'm sure you've heard of me. I'll come in later today after the press release. For now ... Fuck off." He growled, watching John rather than the idiot of a policeman. "Sherlock Holmes is dead, and you just swore at a police officer! You cant ... do .. that. Never mind. I'll just ... " The policeman faltered, when he became the object of Sherlock's intense gaze. "Call DI Gregory Lestrade. Tell him whats happened." He commanded, and the police officer nodded, and went on his way. A pleb if he ever saw one. "Thanks. Can we go home?" John asked after a little bit. Sherlock obliged by leading them both to the car, while keeping John wrapped in the safety of his coat. It would be a long day. For both of them. "....And in other news - Sherlock Holmes the fake detective, is alive .... we go now to a pre-recording from earlier today in Scotland yard..." That's what the T.V was commenting as John and Sherlock crashed through the door. "I don't understand why she would ...." John began when he was finally settled in his armchair, fresh tea made by Sherlock in his hands. "Mycroft originally wanted to include her in the plan of keeping me alive, but in the end ... we decided her incapable as she had to many feelings for me. She may have let slip to someone in Moriarty's chain as to what was happening - without even knowing. I went to her, the night before ... And i asked for help. She had previously noticed some .. er .. signals I was giving off. I knew what I had to do and she picked up that I was, a little off." Sherlock explained. "Why did you ask for help? With what? If she wasn't involved in the cover up?"

"I asked for help, because although I do not have emotions myself, I knew she would be hurt by my 'death' I asked for her to get me a therapist in the end, the same one her dad was seeing before he died of a heart attack. Of course I didn't even have one session with them. But it gave Molly something to do." Sherlock explained, his voice thick with grief.  
"Your having emotions now." John replied, drinking the tea with a pained expression planted on his face.  
"It's My bodies reaction to .... Oh Fuck it. Yes, I'm upset. Molly should never of died. I was a day late with my announcement of life. As if my coming back caused her to die. A life for a life." Sherlock whispered. His body was shaking. John could see he was on the verge of breakdown.  
"Sherlock. It wasn't your fault. Despite the fact we want to blame ourselves. We couldn't have changed what she did." John told him, in his Captain's voice.  
"A long time ago, Mycroft made me an offer. He had Moriarty in custody - and he offered to kill him. To stop his empire before it grew any further. I denied him the opportunity, telling myself I could not take another life. You know me better than anyone. The lives of the many outweigh the life of one individual. I should have killed him. But I did not. I was enjoying the game. I thought I was indestructible. And for these thought's and decisions - it cost me, and many others, especially you. Three years of our lives. Countless deaths - and now, Molly. Sweet Molly. It was my fault. MY FUCKING FAULT." Sherlock finished, screaming. John sat opposite him, and took in all this new information.  
Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace, he was rocking back and forth with illegible mumbling's spurting forth in his deep baritone every few minutes.  
"Although you probably can't hear me in there - you should know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. I will grieve as will you, but nobody can be to blame for her own decision." John stated, before covering the fidgeting Detective with a blanket. Immediately the near manic man stilled. John quietly sat with him - waiting for him to surface from the hellish place that was, the great Detective's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of each chapter, I'm not really sure how to continue, The characters represent people in my life, and at the moment writing this is like a kind of therapy. Sorry if it gets to .... Bleh.


	3. A Dark Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR DEATH IN THIS CHAPTER! BEWARE.  
> We take a look into Sherlock's mind palace, and his projections of people in is life.
> 
> I hope this make's sense, it was certainly a challenge to write.

It's Death Again

It's Death again - He's always there -  
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!  
Every time I look behind  
Or reach to pull the window blind,  
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -  
A little clue to where he stood;  
The glint of light that caught the scythe.  
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…  
But O! no use, he'll never go.  
The adamant phantom; don't you know  
He will but wait until it's time  
For me to hear His fateful chime? -  
The toll that claims my destiny,  
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'

 

  
Sherlock walked the halls of his mindpalace, like a child he stumbled on, until the mental projection of himself stumbled, and hit the ground.  
"Get up Sherlock, you must rationalise this death - adn you cant do anything from where your sitting." Mycroft demmanded, exiting a room and walking past the crouching Sherlock.  
"How can I rationalise something that was clearly my fault?" He shouted, at the retreating figure. Eventually he managed to get up again, and headed for the closest door.  
'ALL WE KNOW OF DEATH'  
It was an interesting door name, and the door was quite obviously old. He could not even remember the room. He picked the lock, having apparently locked it and entered. The breath left him. Everything he had ever wanted to forget seemed to involve death. His parents deaths, Victor Trevor's Death, His own suicide attempts - the nightmare's he'd had of John dying. And now Molly - seeming to hang in the middle of the room, as if she was truly ther. Sherlock cursed his amazing imagination. He looked down, and found himself to be holding a child's hand. John's. He was wearing rugby gear, no doubt this child was a memory Sherlocks mind had turned into a person, so he could cope with all the bodies. From his parents mangled corpses in the corner (Car accident) To, Victor still in the bath where Sherlock had found him bleeding out. Teenage John urged him on, his big brown eyes sad.  
"It's ok Sherlock. Death is not normal, and we never know when it will happen. But everyone must learn to cope with it." John told him, standing in front of a car, with the windows taped shut - a pipe connecting the muffler, to the interior of the car.  
Sherlock recognised it and shook. He recalled his drug addled, manic younger self - making these preperations to a strangers car in a dark warehoues, and after 46 seconds, when he began to loose consciousness Mycroft Pulled him from the car. He thought he'd managed to escape big brother. But apparently not.  
"Why are you here Mr Holmes?" The younger John asked.  
"If I talk to you, it's like talking to myself." He told the boy.  
"Well, you could always leave this place, and go talk to real people. But real people are hard." John replied snappily, for a second John's friendly faced morphed into a snarling teenage Sherlock, causing the Detective to fumble.

 

"Although you probably can't hear me in there - you should know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. I will grieve as will you, but nobody can be to blame for her own desicion"

  
John was trying to talk to the Detective. Sherlock listened numbly. What John was saying was logical, but the things Sherlock had never understood where getting in the way. Feelings. Emotion.  
He had left for three years, to fight crime - while his friends suffered. If he had of let Molly in on the plan, rather than have her stuated in a different part of the hospital at the time he jumped - she might still be alive. If he had been more of a friend to her, she might of had the confidence to move on. But instead he had been his usual self, selfish arrogant and cold. Rage overtook him.  
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?" He shouted, all the bodies of his friends and family seemed to move at once.  
"Help us Sherlock!" Victor shouted, blood still flowing from his wrists.  
"My Intelligient baby boy! Why'd you ask for a microscope? Me and your fther had to drive to Tesco's on christmas in the snow!" His mother cried, holding her hands to her battered head.  
"You let your mother and I get his by a truck!" His father shouted, trying to hold the flow of blood coming from his severed thighs, where the gnarled metal was now imbedded.  
"You should have told me. You should have come back. I could have helped." Molly whispered. It was too much. Tears streamed down the Detective's face, and he rushed from the room - locking it once more. Mycroft was there once more.

"Brother, what are you looking for?" He asked, looking ... sympathetic. Sherlock tried to wrap his mind around the question. He shrugged his shoulders.  
"I Dont know." He replied with a hoarse whisper. Knowing he was heading for the pit of despair, he dragged himself from the palaces carpeted floor and stumbled towards the elevator.  
"Take me to John's floor." He told the intercom. His mind obliged, and soon he was feeling better - wondering throught the rooms and smiling at all their memories. After what seemed like forevor walking through all the fond memories, and the fights over nothing, he decided to go home. 

Time to go back to John.  
Real John, the John who was waiting for him. Who knew how long it had been? It seemed after being in the room that was once more bolted shut - things could only be better.


	4. A Gray Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interesting chapter to write, but I wanted to keep the funeral side of things brief - and more focus on their thoughts and feelings. Because yes, Sherlock can feel.  
> As the name says,  
> He Did Care.

Only Way Is Up

We been broken down  
the lowest turn  
and been on the bottom line  
sure ain't no fun  
but if we should be evicted from our homes  
we'll just move somewhere else  
and still carry on  
Hold on, Hold on, Hold on

The only way is up, baby  
For you and me, baby  
The only way is up  
For you and me

Now we may not known  
Where our next meal is coming from

But with you by my side  
I'll face what is come  
boy, I wanna thank you  
for loving me this way  
things may be a little hard now  
but we'll find a brighter day  
Hold on, Hold on, Hold on

Read more: Yazz - The Only Way Is Up Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

 

The funeral was on a sober day. Reporters had of course got hold of the fact that a 'close associate and rumored girlfriend' of Sherlock's had committed suicide, so Mycroft had pulled through and had the whole area secured from anyone trying to take photo's. Molly's mother clung to John's arm the whole time, and it seemed Sherlock would not leave his side. It was a simple and sweet service, much like Molly. Purple Lillie's were arranged all over, and everything went smoothly. In mare hours, it seemed the service was over - and Molly was gone. In the ground. Eventually one of Molly's brother's pried her Mother from John. Sherlock subconsciously took John's hand - and he didn't mind. The detective was wearing dark sunglasses, his coat collar upturned. John could see how deeply this was affecting the Detective - despite the Detective's emotionless face.  
"Will you be attending the nibble's afterwards?" Mycroft asked,sidling up beside them. John knew Sherlock was falling into his black mods - when he didn't even try to tease Mycroft about his use of the word 'Nibbles' in conjunction to the older Holmes diet.  
"Yes. I think it would be appropriate." John answered for the both of them. Mycroft nodded, and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock before turning on his heal and leaving them to offer his condolences to Mrs Hooper and Molly's 3 brothers.  
"John ... It's over. Three hours, and it's done. Not many will even remember her after this. Its..wrong. There has to be more! ... it can't just be finished in three hours." Sherlock murmured, subtly wiping his eyes as the men began covering the coffin in earth. John agreed wholeheartedly, There was no honor in death - despite what others said. He made a spit second decision, that could potentially worsen Sherlocks guilt - or help him through all the pain he found himself in.  
"I want to tell you about what she was like, maybe after the afternoon tea. You might want to know what she was like while you were ... gone." He told the inconsolable Detective. Sherlock nodded silently and Followed John, still clinging tightly to his hand, despite the glove that separated Sherlock's hand from skin contact - John could still feel the heat. It was a nice feeling in the rain. Sherlock held the umbrella of course - John was too short to hold it for the Detective, and it gave Sherlock something to do.

 

I'm so sorry you had to be the one to find Molly. We knew she was depressed, but we didn't know to what extent. I hope you can recover." James, one of Molly's brother's told John. John nodded.  
"I'm truly sorry for your loss. I didn't realize either, and we ended up being rather close. She helped me through Sherlocks Death." John told him, managing to keep his eyes dry.  
"That Bastard! He's the one that pushed her over the edge, couldn't handle being without him. And he's not even Fucking Dead!" James Hissed, while Sherlock got some tea for the both of them.  
"Oi! That's my best friend. Fuck off. You think this isn't hard for him? He blames himself solely for her death, and will do so for the rest of his life more than likely ...." John began angrily.  
"I read the papers, he's a sociopath! he cant feel!" James rebuked, keeping his voice quiet for the benefit of all the mourners.  
"That man, is the most feeling man you will ever meet. Sure he doesn't care if he squishes a bug - but this .... Molly's suicide...Molly's death. He will never forget it." John replied before turning on his heal and walking away. He found Sherlock by the table of food, trying to ignore the woman prattling on about the sin of suicide, and how nobody had any morals anymore.  
"Hey mate. You wanna go?" John asked sidling up beside him. Sherlock nodded and took John's hand once more. The old woman practically had a heart attack. No doubt she would be telling her next victim about the two Gay men holding hands at a funeral - and how indecent she thought that to be. Stuff her. She could think what she wanted. As far as John was concerned, this was Just holding a friends hand. Sherlock was as Asexual as they came after all.  
After only half an hour, they were gone.   
The cab ride home was silent and disconnected, except for the hands that were still connected and resting on the middle seat together.


	5. Heartless Explanation

REQUIEM

Under the wide and starry sky,  
Dig the grave and let me lie.  
Glad did I live and gladly die,  
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:  
Here she lies where she longed to be;  
Home is the sailor; home from the sea,  
And the hunter home from the hill.

Robert Louis Stevenson

 

It was as if Sherlock was on auto - pilot.He sat down, accepted the tea from John with a thank you and polite smile. He stared at the wall, trying to delete or at least encrypt the hardest memories from the day. He slid many files under the door 'ALL WE KNOW OF DEATH' without making the mistake of opening it. Apparently it took him only minutes to catalog the day. And then he was done, and back to reality.  
"You ok?" John asked, he was obviously concerned.  
"I'll be fine. I thought ... I thought coming back would be great. I guess I was mistaken." He told the Doctor. John nodded, his face sad.  
"Do you regret coming back?" John asked quietly.  
"No. Molly would have done it at the same time regardless it would seem. I'm glad to be back here ... with you." He told the Doctor - which seemed to return the glow to his friends eyes.  
"Yeah, Despite the last few days and... and finding her, I'm glad your back. Although it will take awhile getting used to it." John told him. Sherlock noted the faraway expression in the doctor's eyes.  
"Yes. You said you wanted to tell me about.... about Molly when I was away?" Sherlock inquired, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. He had since removed the dark sunglasses he had sported at the funeral, and as John was a Doctor - he had no doubt noted the red rims surrounding his green eyes. Under any other circumstance, his behavior would have been side effects of drug abuse. But under these circumstance, it was just the grief.  
"She ... She wasn't as affected as I thought she would be. I was ... Well you know how I was." John began, Sherlock nodded - conceding the point.  
"Yes, it's fine. I ... I saw the Hospital reports. And the videos." Sherlock told him, recalling the painful moment's where he watched John live from Switzerland, slit his wrists.  
"Well, She was there for me. From that point on. She talked about you when I wanted to, and when I didn't - she just helped me. With anything. It wasn't like I was suddenly invalid. I was just ... emotional. The slightest thing could set me off. I was useless, couldn't go anywhere, or talk to anyone because they kept asking if I was 'Ok' I almost punched Lestrade when he asked. As you know, I became a recluse. Didn't even leave the house for Bloody milk! I had it delivered. But - Molly was there. Helping with anything - and she didn't set me off. Just kept me sane." John told him through gritted teeth. Sherlock nodded, biting his cheek so as not to let slip anything his frantic mind was thinking.  
"How...um .. how close did you become?" He asked, clearing his throat.  
"Oh. Not like that! Just really good friends. She was my link to the outside world. She was the one who told the press to bugger off when they wanted interviews - all the while I'd be sitting in the car or whatever trying to think of a reason to live." John replied, his voice nearer to a whisper. Sherlock could see the thoughts crossing his mind, see how hard this was for him. Not only the loss of Molly - but sitting here and retelling what he went through to the very man that caused it.  
"Sherlock, I don't understand why she did it. She seemed ok. Like she was expecting it." John told him, eyes fluttering about the room. A show if desperation. He wanted there to be a reason for her death, a change in her environment rather than in her.  
"The night before, when I went to her about a 'therapist' I think she decided I was heavily depressed then. And as a Doctor, she probably understood that Depression and suicide mix quite often." Sherlock told him with a slight shudder.  
"I'm a Doctor, you didn't seem depressed. Where you?" John asked, looking ... Tired.  
"I...Yes. I was."Sherlock replied resignedly.  
"How good a friend can I have been, I'f I didn't even see you were depressed?" John shouted, at himself.  
"I myself didn't realize it until after visiting Molly. I told her I needed her. And I realized it was true. I need people around me, to keep me grounded." Sherlock told him, feeling increasingly more uncomfortable as the focus of their conversation was shifting to him rather than Molly.  
"What ... What were you Depressed about?" John asked quietly, his fists clenched as his sides, he was in pain. Sherlock thought about it.  
"I knew." Sherlock replied, shoving his hands int his hair and rocking forward on his chair so his head was cradled in is hands.  
"Knew what?" John inquired, sounding sad.  
"I KNEW WHAT I HAD TO DO. Knew I Had lost." Sherlock shouted, losing the war with his mind - somehow he'd entered the code unlocking his emotions, and his blocked feelings were showering him with pain and anger.  
"But, But you didn't lose! you out smarted Moriarty, and took down his empire!" John reconciled. Sherlock laughed.  
"At what cost? At What cost John? MOLLY IS DEAD. And it's all my fault...my Fault." Sherlock told John. He sunk lower into the pit of despair. He numbly recognized his hands being pulled away from his face, and John pulling him into a bear hug, but by then, all he could see was Molly hanging, or crying as she wrote the letter. It was his Fault. A life for a life.


End file.
